


When I'm With You

by exploding_stardust



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Medieval AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:32:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1436821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exploding_stardust/pseuds/exploding_stardust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the son of a Count, Ser Marco of Bodt is expected to make a good marriage for his family; namely, the Lady Historia of Reiss, heir to the most successful shipping family of all the land. With Historia comes Ymir, her guardswoman and obvious one true love, and Marco is prepared to spend his life as the perpetual third wheel. But when a fateful ride through the forest brings Jean back into his life, the man who stole his heart all those years ago, and things don't turn out quite like Marco planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

>   
> _Long is the road that leads me home_  
>  _And longer still when I walk alone_  
>  _Bitter is the thought of all that time_  
>  _Spent searching for something I'll never find_  
>  Cold is the Night- The Oh Hellos  
> 

 

The arrangement between young Historia and Marco was that they were never to deceive one another. They were both well aware that their upcoming union was purely beneficial to their families, and their duty kept them from protesting the arranged marriage. But Marco was no fool and when he laid eyes on Lady Historia and her personal guardswoman, he knew he would never win her affections in quite the same the way Ymir had.

"We had promised not to lie to one another, yes?"

Historia knew exactly what he was asking and was terrified of what he would think, that much was apparent. Wide blue eyes on a pale face searched his for any ill will, her crossed arms in a white knuckled grip. She slowly came back to herself, slumping back against the stone castle wall when she saw his smile was soft and genuine.

"Are Ymir and I truly that obvious?" She sighed, taking a careful sip from a bulky ceramic mug, not the delicate porcelain she kept in a cabinet in her solar for entertaining guests.

They were seated on a bench near the rear wall of the garden connected to the kitchens and left mostly alone to enjoy their tea. They were often seen together, convincing most that they were actually fond of one another and burying the rumors that Lady Historia was particularly attached to her personal guard 'in the most unladylike manner' as Countess Bodt liked to put it.

Historia of Reiss Bay was once called Krista Lenz of Nowhere Special. She had been kept away, still on Reiss grounds but obscure and protected until she could be legitimized and brought back to the fold for the sole purpose of bringing a good marriage to the illustrious Reiss family. Their wealth lay in shipping and trade and as prosperous as they were now, and had been for decades, the seas and winds had proven to be fickle. 

A year before, after storms and bandits ruining investments, too many for Lord Reiss' liking, it was decided it was time to bring out Krista Lenz from the proverbial woodwork and make her an heir, bastard born or otherwise. Ymir had been employed to protect her during the legitimization and onwards, guarding her from the many enemies the Reiss family aquired over many successful generations of trade. None would challenge a warrior from the North.

"Only to me, because I am particularly observant and because I wish I had someone who looked at me the way Ymir looks at you." There was no doubt in Marco's mind that Historia and Ymir had found something strong and true, bound by mutual happiness and respect and not out of duty. His parents had also wed to better their families, and had found some kind of affection later on, but he often heard them arguing and had seen in his youth, more times that he would like to admit, whipping boys exiting their chambers with red faces and sometimes even bloody noses.

"And is that alright with you? That I have Ymir and that she has me? Because I know the whole point of all this is for us to marry and start producing heirs but-"

Marco laid a heavily freckled hand on her shoulder, looking her dead in the eye, "We do not need to worry about that anytime soon. I know we have our obligations to our families but that doesn't mean we can't take our time with it." There was a mischievous glint in his eye. "We could take the first year or three for travel... then maybe another after we return to remodel the manor that will become mine after we're wed and we can't have children then, with all that dust and dirt."

Historia laughed, airy and bright, no longer under the weight of so heavy a burden and they lapsed into a companionable silence.

He remembered all the secrets he'd been expected to keep as a page and then squire until he was finally knighted and could leave the Royal Palace for more than a month during the summer. He had kept others before that, of course, but those were to protect his heart, not his station.

_'Its been years since I thought of that night.'_

Marco was the second son born to the Bodt family and the youngest. His mother was from a merchant family like Historia's, mostly dealing in fine fabrics whereas his fathers line had older money, noble for centuries and dealt in lumber and game. The Bodt castle lay nestled on a ridge just above the pass used to travel to the Royal Palace to the south.

They owned everything within the valley up to summits of the mountain range that surrounded them, with lush forests saturating the fertile land. With his older brother and sister marrying for metal reserve rights and social status respectively, it was down to him to better their lumber trade. 

Marco believed they were happy in their own way. Alexander already had three children and his wife was good to them. After her marriage to a Duke, and adviser to the king himself, Elise was expecting their second child and often met with Xander, both staying close to the Capital in the south.

Being the third born, Marco had been given certain freedoms his older siblings had not. He would not inherit his fathers expansive lands, the bulk of his birthright being the manor estate at the base of the northern mountains. His parents and older sister called it shabby and isolated, but Marco preferred the large rustic and secluded house to the cold stone of the main castle and he knew Xander liked the quiet as much as he did.

Being overlooked was another advantage, escaping frequently to the village near the northern manor ever since his tenth year whenever his family stayed there during the summer months. He did not know whether his father knew of his adventures or but until his knighting at 18, when he no longer had to explain his comings and goings and could finally stop climbing out the second story window and nearly breaking his neck on the trellis every damn time, he had never been stopped or caught.

Marco, or rather Mauro as he had called himself, had made friends in the village despite only being able to see them during his month respite from court and lying to them all the while about his upbringing. At least until they figured it out on their own. 

Sasha Blouse, who took over the inn from her father two years past, was the first to figure it out and used her new-found knowledge to extort spices and food from the manor's kitchens. A small price when her cooking was the times what their own head cook could cook up.

Connie Springer took a little longer to put the pieces together, and despite being the deputy sheriff, he needed things practically spelled out with accompanying song and dance to realize Marco wasn't an orphaned wanderer, passing through for the season, every year, for 10 odd years. He was recently promoted to sheriff and much more more observant if only to live down the embarrassment.

And the boy he had met that one summer, still battered and bruised from lance training as a third year page. He never had a chance to out it together, really. Marco never saw him again after that month. He couldn't remember his name and probably wouldn't even recognize him anymore.

There had been others, of course. But they either never put it together or didn't care to and Marco continued to go onto the village looking as common as possible even after he stopped hiding his comings and goings from his parents. 

He understood his money and influence gave him a perceived power and rank over them, but he never thought himself higher than anyone else.

It was something that he shared with Historia, who knew her servants well and always slipped extra coin into their hands, refusing to take no for an answer. She often broke her fast early, spending the morning in the kitchen with the staff as they baked the day's bread, sometimes even helping out with a loaf or two. She gossiped with them and learned of their troubles, often doing something small to ease any burden: the reassignment of a pregnant woman from lugging heavy laundry to polishing the silver or requesting an extra order of burning oil and candles for her own reserves during the cold winter months.

Marco made sure every man employed knew that there was to be no violence: not to the other men and especially not to the women of younger girls within the Bodt lands, on pain of imprisonment and an indefinite stay working in the debtors mines. Marco often rotated the married guardsmen he took with him when he hunted, taking down extra game so they could take back meat to their families without his father's knowledge, avoiding a lecture on servant-ruling relations and how 'disposable' common folk were. His father was fond of ranting about the sanctity of social rank and stations and his mother didn't care to know the names of her personal maids. 

"We'll be going to the manner house soon." Came a rough voice, just out of their view. Ymir sauntered around a column over to them, a loaf of cheese filled bread in her hands. She tore off a piece and tossed it at Marco's head, grinning when he caught it in his mouth.

"A munth s'not soon enough." He said around the mass of bread and cheese. It was good, but Sasha's was better.

"That's easy for you to say! You get to ride and hunt and  _do_  things." Historia took a bite from the piece of bread Ymir handed her, waving it around as she spoke. "I have to stay inside and read or sew and I  _like_ reading and sewing but sometimes a girl just wants to hit things with an ax!" 

"You are twenty years old. If you want to hit something with an ax, go hit something with an ax!" Said Ymir incredulously, taking a hearty bit of the bread. 

"I think a small one would suit her best." Marco interjected, "Perhaps a hatchet-"

"Hatchets don't give the same satisfaction an ax does, you know that. I could get you one small enough from the armory, if you'd like."

"Yes  _well_ ," Historia sounded exasperated but her smile proved otherwise. "The Countess would probably fume at the sight of me swinging an ax. I can see the smoke coming out of her ears as we speak."

"But Mo-ther is-n't he-re." Marco sang, standing up and offering his hand to Historia with a flourish. 

"And she won't be back until she returns for visiting her uncle to the south next week."

She took it and stood, wiping the crumbs fro. Her hands on her dress. She grabbed the last chunk of bread out of Ymir's hands and stuffed it into her mouth, chewing messily.

"Let's bring back dinner while were at it."

* * *

 

As Marco rode in the lead on his giant chestnut gelding, he couldn't shake the apprehension that had coiled at the base of his stomach upon entering th private stretch of forest just an hour before.

Certainly not because he was leaning Historia and Ymir though forestland that wasn't marked out with riding trails, the branches left to grow naturally and not manicured to keep out of the path. Historia was an accomplished rider, as natural in the saddle as Ymir, who was rumored to have been born on one. They had changed into their more identifiable clothing- Historia in a simple, dark blue-green riding dress with a lighter swirl pattern stitched into the hems of her sleeves hidden by riding gloves and Ymir in her matching jerkin, the same swirl insignia barely visible on the right breast.

He could have easily blamed his wary eyes and tense muscles on their companion, his father. At hearing that Marco would show Historia a more wild section of the private forest just behind the Castle Bodt, probably from a servant paid to keep him informed, the illustrious Count Bodt apparently thought it a wonderful idea.

"You should know just how dangerous the wood is and take care to stay on the marked riding trails," was his reasoning, holding her lightly calloused hand in his. Historia's eyes had nearly crossed and Marco could see the way her other hand clenched hold of her skirts, hidden from the count's dark eyed gaze.

"How kind of you, my Lord." She said stiffly, though her face maintained a practiced calm he had often seen on his mother. 

Ymir, however, looked somewhere between agast and thoroughly amused, fiddling with the strap attaching a rather large hatchet (that was to have been for Historia's use) to her belt. "I'll be coming as well, m' Lord. Should I go ready our horses? And should I alert your guards to do the same?"

Marco knew there was no way in any hell Ymir would actually do so.

"No, dear." His condescension absent for once. "Let it be just us four. We won't be long, Duke Erwin will,arrive in the late afternoon and I believe it time my soon to be daughter-in-law and I bond for a bit and you and Marco  _should_ be adequate in case anything should arise."

_'Ah, there it was.'_

Ymir was famous for a Northman, having crossed from the rebel faction, calling themselves the Titans, to aid the Royal Army and then employed by Lord Reiss himself after the battles fettered out to small squirmishes. She was wicked fast with her sword and quite deadly with a crossbow as well.

Marco had been knighted two years before and though unproven in battle, he held his own at competitions and fairs all over the kingdom. He was trained to wield any weapon but was best with a bow, outranking all his fellow pages and squires his entire 8 years of training at Sina Palace. He followed the archers around the castle as a child but owed much of his skill to Sasha, who taught him some of what she knew whenever he saw her. She still managed to surprise him whenever he visited and they hunted together.

A pair of deeply tanned, deeply freckled trained warriors well versed in at least 50 different weapons between the two and then account for Ymir's wicked reflexes and Marco's unwavering aim. 

_Adequate._

It wasn't his father's annoying presence, however. The forest was oddly quiet, and any hunter or tracker would tell you that was a bad omen. 

"We should go back." He announced, drawing his horse to a stop. He took his bow from its case on his saddle, bracing it against his stirrup to string it. Checking his quiver, he mentally berated himself for bringing so few and resolved to count on the other's weapons. Plus his hunting knife.

_'Merely adequate after all.'_

"Nonsense." Count Bodt responded. Even he looked slightly disturbed by the silence. He led his horse between Marco and an outcropping of stone, halting once he was at the head of the column. "We've hardly left the edge of the forest."

Historia and Ymir drew up alongside Marco.

"You feel it too." Historia said, hand on the hilt of the dagger hidden in the back of her corset. 

"It's too quiet." Whispered Ymir, dismounting and unsheathing her sword. "A forest this quiet means bad news for anyone rash enough to enter." She continued, loud enough for the count to just hear her.

"You are all merely overreacting. There is nothing ami-" 

A loud growl broke through the silent wood. Marco quickly dismounted, slung his quiver over his shoulder with its precious few arrows and quickly knocked one. He would have to pick his shots carefully.

"Father, why don't you take Historia back to the castle? Ymir and I can seek out the beast and return the forest to normal. We'd be out of the wood well before Duke Erwin's arrival."

Count Bodt was not one to run from a threat, that much Marco knew. But the way his face was devoid of all color, his jaw clenched and he was pulling on his reigns hard enough that it must be causing discomfort to the black gelding he rode. He wasn't a young man anymore either.

"Quite right. Historia, why don't we take the route we came and you can continue telling me that thrilling tale of your first voyage with Lord Reiss?"

Historia looked at Ymir and only turned her horse when Ymir gave her a quick nod. Ymir's lips were a tight line and her gaze was shifty, thinking quickly. She was not happy about it.

"I trust she will be in your best care, my lord." She said it as a statement but everyone knew it was really a question.

Count Bodt had the decency to be concerned and not reproachful at the tone. "I will protect her like the daughter she will soon be."

Historia set off just behind the count who set the pace at a lazy canter, fast enough to half their return time but slow enough to avoid suspicion in case the beast they were stalked by was human.

The entire exchange didn't last more than a minute but Marco felt time moving slower, the blood in his veins pumping faster in anticipation.

"You take point," Ymir said, as they tethered the horses to a tree with wild brush in easy reach. 

"He'll keep her safe, if for the marriage or the fact that she's noble." They set off in the direction of the growl, speaking in careful whispers and stepping eith light feet. The grass and fallen leaves were saturated with water from the spring storms, their steps muffled if not a bit slippery.

"That both comforts me and enrages me, I hope you know." She responded, walking just behind and to the right of him, often turning her head to the side to check their rear. 

A loud crash came from their left and Marco quickly held up a hand, signaling Ymir. They crouched low behind a tree, listening hard. Suddenly, two men looking significantly disheveled came sprinting though the forest, not bothering to be hide their position as they came into view.

Marco stood, drawing the arrow back and called to them, "Trespassers! Stop in the name of Count Bodt!"

Ymir stood as well, sword at the ready, but chuckled darkly when the two continued to run. Marco took his first shot, keeping the man in his sights before loosing his arrow. He cried out as it buried itself deep in his hip. Marco was already nocking his next arrow when a massive bear came crashing out of the trees, the loud growl nearly deafening Marco.

Marco quickly turned and loosed the next arrow into the bear's hide, hitting the shoulder. Apparently it merely tickled because the bear kept charging and Ymir crouched down, waiting for the right moment to spring. Marco took the moment to take down the other man, almost out of his reach. He got him though, an arrow sprouting from his calf. The man continued to limp away but a hobbled man was easier to catch than one without an arrow in him.

Ymir launched herself, her sword true as it sunk almost to the hilt just under Marco's arrow. She hung on to its pelt as the bear stood on it hind legs and thrashed about. It swung it's good paw and caught Ymir's shoulder, claws sinking in deep and yanking her away, tossing her straight into a tree trunk, the leaves shaking from the impact. She groggily stood up, grasping for the dagger tucked into her boot.

Marco nocked an arrow, shot it, then shot another, hitting the still standing bear right in the gut. 

There was a moment when both were stock still. 

Then the bear came down to all fours and charged him.

Marco was nocking another arrow as a figure flew out of the underbrush, the blade of his ax glinting in the noonday sun. He landed lightly just in front of the bear and quickly reeled his weapon back. He was about to give the killing stroke to the head when the bear suddenly moved its head and then it's body, faster than Marco had seen any other animal move, and dodge the blow completely. It was about to reach Marco, jaws open wide, and Marco only had a single arrow to defend himself with and no time to reach his knife.

But the bear never made it. 

Marco was acutely aware of how close the blade of the strangers ax was to his leg, once it completed its downward arc, completely severing the head from the rest of the bear's body.

He was young, about his age though the scruffy beard made it difficult to tell for sure. His brown leather breaches were scuffed at the knee and the green tunic over his undyed shirt was riddled with patches.

Breathing hard, Marco took the mans offered hand and stood, his grasp on this last arrow so tight, it had broken in two.

The stranger did not seem so strange at all. If anything, Marco thought he looked oddly familiar. Ash blonde hair left long atop a long face, cut short along the sides and back nearly to the scalp, and bright amber eyes that unnerved him when they kept catching his gaze. Like they already knew everything about him, from dozens of lifetimes before this.

Ymir went up to him, and Marco was about to ask her if she was alright but she waved him away, already having checked herself for wounds. She handed him the sleeve she had torn off her white shirt and turned so he could wrap it. There were four short scratches along her right shoulder from where the bear had shucked her off and they weren't bleeding much but it would do Historia no good if her body guard lost an arm to infection. Far from stop her from performing her duties, it would make her creative and a creative Ymir was something Marco thought to be ten times deadlier than facing an entire Titan army, stark naked, with only a fork to defend himself.

The stranger was standing near what was left of the bear, cleaning his ax on the long grass. Marco made quick work of the bandage and went to the not-so-strange man, extending his arm.

"I owe you my life and the life of my companion. Ask anything of me and I'll see to it it's is yours."

The stranger broke out into a toothy grin, wiping his hand on his brown leather breeches. "No need for dramatics." He said, clasping Marco's forarm. His hold was firm, the muscles taught and wiry under pale skin. "Would've done it for anyone. Even those two, traitorous as they are." He nodded toward the downed men, forgotten in the wake of the bear.

"The name's Jean. I'm a- roaming hunter and trapper." He rubbed the back of his neck, the gesture making him look years younger. It sparked another flash of recognition. " A friend sent me up here to confirm if defectors from the Titan rebels were passing through here. Guess he was right."

"Think you can handle them?" Ymir asked, sheathing her sword with her left hand. "I'm bringing the horses."

"Should we take the bear too?" Jean asked, "Seems a waste to leave it here."

"We can get some guardsmen to bring it back to the castle later." Marco said and motioned for Jean to come with him. "Have you come to my father's court before? I am Marco, my father is Count Bodt."

Jean chuckled heartily, "I think I'd remember if I'd come to Count Bodt's castle. Is it true he eats a whole boar for supper every day?"

Marco laughed, "As I recall, it was just the one time. And it was a pigmy boar. And he couldn't shit for days after."

"I would've paid good money to see that." He said, and quickly added "m'lord."

Marco waved his hand at him as they came alongside the shot men, sitting by a tree, thoroughly exhausted from exertion and blood loss, waiting for death by bear or by executioner.

"Don't bother with that. You saved my life! You could call me anything at this point and I would gladly accept it."

"How about Freckled Jesus?" Jean asked, grin back on his face.

Marco could feel his own mouth mirror the smile. "That's blasphemous."

Jean just shrugged. "Not my god. What are we going to do with these two? They look like Titan soldiers, if not a little worse for wear."

"We're not with the Titans, I swear it! We were just passing through!" Said one of the two. The other just looked to the distance, his hand pressed firmly into his bleeding hip.

"We wait for Ymir to bring the horses." Said Marco, ripping the sleeve of his shirt and using it to bind the silent mans wound. The arrow was out and Marco made quick work of the bandage. "Then take them in for questioning." From the corner of his eye, he could see Jean binding the other man's hands behind his back with a strip of leather. 

As he tied the final knot of his makeshift bandage, hands tightened around his throat as the man lunged at him.

Marco used his weight to turn them over, his grip on the man's wrists digging to unclench them but they wouldn't budge. Jean was suddenly in his view, and with their combined efforts managed to disengage the mans hands from Marco's neck.

He coughed, air returning to his lungs, but when he saw the man who just tried to kill him his stomach sank.

The man lay unnaturally still, hands still in their crooked search for Marco's neck, his eyes staring up at the small patch of sky visible between the leaves of the canopy. 

Ymir's voice broke him out of his reverie. "Damm it, I leave you two alone for a moment and you've killed once of the prisoners. I should do it more often too, now that you've grown a pair, Bodt."

Marco couldn't move- could barely breathe- his mouth tasting of metal and he wondered if he had bitten his cheek to keep from heaving his breakfast. Not two hours ago he had been having lighthearted conversation over tea and bread with Historia and Ymir and now he had taken a mans life. Traitor or not, it didn't sit well with him.

He got up, clumsily and nearly falling on his face before making it to the other side of the small clearing. He knelt there, retching the contents of his stomach. Ymir, thankfully, didn't comment.

Wiping his mouth on his remaining shirt sleeve, he stood and turned to help load their now lone prisoner when he came face to face with Jean. 

They were close, too close, and Marco knew Jean could smell his rancid breath. Jean was a mere two inches shorter than him and he could see a small scar slicing through the edge of an eyebrow. 

Jean searched his faces and slowly reached up. Gently, he wiped at Marco's cheek, smearing the tears Marco didn't realize he had shed.

"You must think me silly." He said shakily, wiping at his eyes more forcefully with the heels of his hands, then wiping his shaky hands on his dark blue tunic. "Unable to stomach blood and death."

"Not at all." Came Jean's quiet reply. He took a small step back and handed Marco a water skin.

As Marco drank, spat, and then drank again, Jean stood there and ran his hands through his hair, looking anywhere but at him.

He thought it rather adorable how this grown man, lean muscle and stubble and piercing amber eyes, could suddenly turn into a lad, all awkward angles and shy murmurs.

He handed back the skin, feeling less nauseous but not better in the slightest, and when their hands brushed, Marco felt another spark of familiarity.

' _Why can't I place him?'_

Jean took hold of his arm, eyes meeting Marco's. "I've seen a lot of death. I was a soldier, there was no escaping it. And it's a dark day when taking a man's life means nothing to you." Jean held on for a second longer before giving a quick squeeze and letting go.

Marco had a fleeting want for that comforting hand on his arm again, for the comfort those words gave him.

They walked towards back towards the horses, a Titan defector on each and Marco dared to ask again, "Are you certain we haven't met before?"

The words were whispered and he almost hoped Jean hadn't heard them.

He had, however. 

Tilting his head to meet Marco's eyes, a mocking and toothy, uneven smirk on his face that brought back every memory he had of Jean Keirschtein. The silly boy he only knew for a few weeks. Who captured his young heart and then never saw again.

Marco's heart nearly stopped at the name he had chosen as his disguise, now long discarded, from the lips of the only person who'd ever made him feel truly wanted.

"Maybe we have, little Mauro."


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Words we have said, grew in my head  
> _ _Colored my thoughts, sang me to bed  
> _ _Lost memories, g_ _rew into trees  
> _ _Covered the doors, s_ _wallowed the keys_  
>  A Dance 'Round the Memory Tree - Orien Lavie

Two boys sat by a tree at the edge of the forest.  It was past midnight and dawn was closer than they cared to admit. The dark surrounded them but for the light of the stars scattered across the clear night sky.

Two boys sitting side by side thought they would see each other the very next day. Another day of red faces and laughter and muddy games that brought them too close too often to be called coincidence. 

 "Will you do something for me?"

"You should know the answer to that by now."

"I'm serious. I need you to be as well."

"Fine, fine. But I'll only say yes if I know what it is."

"Will you close your eyes and not open them until I say?"

"That's an odd req-"

"Will you or not?"

"Alright! I will! No need for a tone, your majesty."

"I'm not a majes-"

_"My eyes're closed_. Now what?"

Neither boy stirred as the crickets resumed their songs. Jean was about to open his eyes when soft lips met his own. Tentative and sweet. He responded more forcefully, gripping the back of his head, chapped lips moving against smooth. 

Marco squeaked in surprise but pressed on. 

Eventually they broke apart, breathing heavily.

"I have to go."

"Please don't hate me."

"If I did it'd be your own doing. You kissed me first."

"Only because you lacked the courage."

"Very true. And I don't hate you, just have to wake early."

"Oh."

Jean looked into Marco's eyes, holding his face so their eyes met. He smirked, crooked and toothy and pecked him quickly on the cheek before turning tail and running down the path back to the village. 

Marco stayed sitting for a while longer, idly playing with his warm lips and enjoying to moonlight for just a bit longer.

* * *

 

On their way back to the castle, Marco struggled with himself. He couldn't stop looking at the boy he thought he loved, all those years ago, now completely different but also still the same.

When they stopped to let the horses drink, Jean let out a high pitched whistle. Not five minutes later, a burly horse with thick legs and bushy mane came out of the clearing and stomped over to him. 

"Did you learn that trick in the army?" Ymir asked, her heavy lidded gaze focused on Jean as if seeing him for the first time. 

"I was with the Survey Battalion." He said as he checked the saddle bags. "The whistle that obvious?"

She drew herself up, subtly placing her hand on her word hilt. "I was a Titan scout for the army near the end of the war. We taught you that trick."

The corner of Jean's mouth quirked upward. "Oh, so did you know Reiner and Bertholdt? My squad worked with them on our raids."

Marco breathed a small sign of relief. Most people didn't like that Ymir was once part of the Titan rebellion, despite all the Titan scouts did to turn the tide.He was also glad Ymir seemed to like him. He wouldn't hear the end of it if she didn't.

They talked animatedly about the people they knew during the war leaving Marco to just listen, talking mostly about people they knew but a few names jumped out to him.

"You knew Levi? He's the head of our guard."

Jean nodded to him, "He led my squad. We were given orders directly by Duke Erwin."

"So that means your squad had three knights as well?" Marco pried, hoping he was wrong.

The grimace on Jean's face was enough to confirm. "Please don't tell me you knew Jeager."

Ymir chuckled, "What was he, your lover or something?"

Marco laughed outright at that, speaking over Jean sputtering, "Oh no, Ymir. You don't understand. They  _hate_  each other. Eren of Jeager used to complain at every moment possible when he squired under the Duke. That's how he got sent into the Survey Battallion right after his knighting."

"Why didn't  _you_ fight?" Asked Jean suddenly, his tone harsh.

Marco took a deep breath, "I was squired by a lord long who stayed at court almost constantly. And I would have gone anyway if I had not injured my sword arm the week before my knighting. I wasn't allowed near any action, not when my injuries would have gotten others killed. By the time I healed enough, the fighting had died out."

He looked pointedly at Jean, "I did what I could. I negotiated supplies to be sent to the front lines, I trained the archers on the walls to shoot better. As soon as I could ride I spent weeks on horseback, meeting farmers and travelers and making sure they had enough to defend themselves with and a route to a safe haven should they need it."

Marco didn't realize he was ranting until Ymir put her hands on his shoulders. 

"Breathe." Was her only command and Marco obeyed. As he let his breaths out slowly, she moved away back to the front of the column. They continued their trek in silence, the forest buzzing with life again. 

As they made their way up to the stables, Historia came running to them, skits held aloft in her hands.

"Thank goodness you're alright!" She cried, falling into Ymir's arms. Marco quickly moved his horse to stand in front of them and motioned Jean to do the same. He looked at Marco, confusion clear on his features, and then looked back to Ymir and Historia. He quickly snapped his head around, blush tinting his cheeks. 

Marco just snickered as they continued up the hill and into the bustling stable yard.

The Duke had arrived and was in deep conversation with Count Bodt, with Levi standing slightly apart, looking as if he wished to be anywhere else.

They handed off their horses to the stable hands, but not before Jean took the pack attached to the back of his saddle. "I need to send a message to Connie." He said, slinging it over his shoulder.

"After we tell Erwin and settle you in."

Jean looked at him, mouth agape.

Marco smirked, "I haven't seen you in years, you think I'm going to let you go so easily?"

Jean cheeks tinted pink and he gently shoved Marco with his elbow as they walked toward the other men.

"Ah Marco! Ymir! You've returned! I trust it was no-"

"Sir!" Jean stood at attention, giving Erwin a stiff salute; right arm over his chest, elbow slightly bent and the inside of his fist atop his heart, and left arm folded behind his back.

Levi drawled, "Of all the idiot things to do Keirschtein- what are you doing here? And for gods sake stop the salute, you're no longer a soldier and Erwin isn't commander anymore."

Erwin chuckled good-naturedly, "Stand down. I appreciate the sentiment though."

"Who is this person?" Asked the count, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head from lack of decorum. 

"Father, this is Jean. He saved Ymir's life and my life. Twice. I vouch for him." Marco could hear the edge in his voice and struggled to bring his cocked eyebrow under control. He had forgotten how protective he could be.

Count Bodt was visibly taken aback. "Well, as long as he wasn't poaching on our land, I suppose we should offer him our sincerest thanks... And hospitality."

"I'm right here." Jean muttered under his breath and Marco was tempted to smile.

' _Some things never change'_

"Unfortunately it was much worse, Father."

* * *

 

Padding down the hall, a mound of clothes draped over his arm and boots in hand, Marco finger combed his drying hair into something relatively presentable. Stopping at what used to be his brothers room at the end of the hall, he knocked; two short raps.

"Come in!" Came a muffled call.

Entering the room, Marco was not prepared for the sight before him.

Jean stood at the desk my the window, hunched over as he scribbled his message, torso bare. Scars riddled his back and a long ridge of burned skin ran from the middle of his spine and roped around to his front. His muscles rippled under fair skin as his arm flew from paper to inkwell. 

His ass also looked fantastic in his leather breeches.

Dropping the quill with finality, Jean picked up the parchment, blowing on the ink as he turned around.

Marco dropped onto the edge of the bed, tossing the clothes behind him as he busied himself with his boots.

It also gave him the perfect way to hide his red face.

The skinny boy Marco knew was long gone, replaced by hard lines and wiry muscle. The scar from his back tapered out by his navel, the skin darker and more flushed than everywhere else.

He had been told by the more forward women at the palace that the v between his hips was particularly pleasing to the eye and Marco never fully realized how inviting those two ridges could be until he saw them on Jean.

"Do you have someone who can run this to the village? Connie would want to know the state of things, as much as it pains me to admit he was right."

"It'll take two days but he'll have it."

"He's had others in his jail and this just confirms that they're coming this way. The thought of all the paperwork coming his way almost makes it worth nearly getting mauled." Jean smirked, folding the letter neatly.

Marco stood, face now it's normal shade of freckled. "I brought you some things that should fit, now that we're about the same size now." Then added with a smirk, "I'm still taller, though."

"By two inches!" Jean laughed, pulling on a cream colored shirt from the mound on the bed.

"It counts!"

They lapsed into a comfortable silence as Jean sifted through the tunics and jerkins Marco brought with him.

 "Try the olive jerkin. It's smaller." Marco suggested, pulling it from underneath the others.

Jean mumbled something that sounded oddly like "We'll see who's smaller" as he sliped it over his head but Marco doesn't take the bait.

"Ugh, why are here so many laces?"

"Here," Marco went over to him and began lacing up the right side as Jean worked on the left. When he finished, he turned Jean to face him, adjusting the sleeves of the shirt and the way the jerkin fit on his frame.

When he was satisfied, he looked up from Jean chest to meet his eyes. They were molten gold in the candlelight and drew him in like a moth to a flame.

"You look the same." He said softly, their faces very close.

"You as well, but you're different too." Marco responded. The scar on Jean's eyebrow twitched as it quirked up, that toothy grin lopsided on his face as he glanced at Marco's mouth.

They were a breath away when someone began pounding on the door.

"Hey! Enough primping, you're not gonna work miracles in a few hours!" 

' _Ymir is a dead woman.'_

His face apparently gave him away because Jean began snickering at him and ran a hand through Marco's hair, sending it in all directions.

"It's a good thing green looks good on you. You're sitting at the high table tonight and I cannot have my people believing I associate with ruffians." Marco said, drawing himself up and combing his hair back into place, with extra flourishes for show.

"The high table?" Jean scrambled to the mirror hanging by the door and began adjusting his own hair, just as theatrical as Marco.   
When Marco caught his eye in the mirror, Jean shot him a smile, small and genuine.

* * *

 

The next week consisted of sparring in the mornings, with Jean and Marco usually ending up a mess of mud and grit when their fights ended in boyish wrestling and roaring laughter, and horse riding and hunts in the afternoons. The Count was usually busy with Duke Erwin, reminiscing and gossiping in the eating hall or on rides of their own, usually with Levi and the guard in tow, so they had no reason for any sort of 'proper decorum' as the Count preferred his household to maintain.

After a day, Historia and Ymir joined them for spring in the dawn light or their leisurely rides in the afternoons.

"I just hate that I don't have any practical skills." She complained during their first group ride, two days after the incident in the woods.

"Um, that is more than slightly inaccurate." Said Marco, taking a bite from the apples they had nicked from the kitchen. "You know every insignia of every family in the kingdom."

"You can throw a dagger and hit the mark. Every time." Added Jean, grabbing the apple out of Marco's hand and taking a bite himself, grinning at the disgruntled look Marco shot him.

"You spent all of Palm Sunday weaving crosses from the palm leaves." Ymir drawled, "You can run for miles with a corset and full dress on. You do that thing with your mou-"

"Alright, alright." Historia sighed, covering her reddening cheeks. "What I mean to say is I have no  _combat_  skills."

"Well that's easy." Jean said, tossing the apple back to Marco, standing up and gesturing Historia to do the same. "You know where to hit a man if he comes near you unwarranted right?"

Everyone knew he was half joking but Historia looked like she wanted to kick him in the very place he mentioned.

Jean chuckled and continued, "So put out you hand, palm outwards. Good, now tilt you wrist. Perfect. Now what you want to do-"

 

Another week passed with Historia and Ymir joining them for morning sparring and Historia quickly became adept at wielding a spear. She could even hold her own against some of the guardsmen, though they were hesitant to participate at first.

They may have underestimated her at first, seeing her as a court Lady out of her usual dresses and clad in shirt and breeches. They stopped soon after she managed to down Ymir, tangling her long legs with the pole end and twisting her whole body.

Ymir laughed and laughed and never looked more proud.

Marco honed his swordplay with Jean, a skill he hadn't noticed was deteriorating with his continual reliance on the bow. Jean was fast with a sword and nearly beat Marco every time. Marco's bulk and flexibility however, had him pinning Jean whenever their matches ended on the wet ground.

* * *

 

It was past midnight and Marco was severely regretting his suggestion that Jean fight with his ax instead of a sword and could still feel the soreness of his shield arm. Jean was brutally graceful with his ax, wielding it like an extension of his arm and packing a punch to boot.

Marco had attempted to distract himself from the aching with a book, candles burning low after hours of use, but it was still present, if dulled.

The night was humid and that was a mixed blessing, easing the ache in his joints from one too many.

Idlely playing with the speak ring on its chain around his neck, Marco nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the crashing of metal and skidding of wood coming from the room next door.

' _Jean'_

 Marco bolted out of his seat and into the hall, feet slipping on the smooth stone, and crashed into Jean's room.

The moonlight cast the room in an eerie glow and made Jean's wild, unseeing eyes particularly disconcerting. He was crouched on the ground, muscles tensed to spring and a knife in his hand. He kept repeating the same thing, voice cracking, "Titans. Titans are coming. I have to kill the Titans."

Moving slowly with his hands outstretched, keeping his voice low and soothing, "Jean? Jean, you're alright. It's okay. You're safe, there's no one here. The titans aren't here. It's just me. Please put the knife down."  


Jean looked straight at him, looked right into Marco's eyes, but it was as if he were a stranger, or worse, a Titan. Suddenly, he took a deep breath and droped the knife to the floor with a clatter. Jean slumped to his knees, hands visibly shaking, "Oh, Marco, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."

Marco went to him, slowly kneeling and wrapping his arms around him, "It's alright. Everything's alright, shhh. I'm here. I'm here."

Jean leaned into his embrace, body wracking with sobs. He cries into his shoulder for so long Marco can't help but wonder what horrors he saw out on the battlefield to make this man lose himself so.

Eventually, Jean's body stilled and the tears no longer came. Cursing his knees, Marco slowly began to stand.

"Wait! Don't-"

Marco held Jean's face mere inches away from his own, running his thumb across Jean's cheek. "I'm not going anywhere. But dawn is still far and the ground is too hard to sleep on."

Jean's eyes bore into Marco's for a moment before they fell to the floor as he nodded, so very childlike for such a hardened man.

They clambered up into the wide bed, Marco laying on his back and Jean curling into his side, head resting on Marco's chest. 

Marco rested his hand atop Jean's shoulder, rubbing smooth circles into the clammy flesh with his thumb.

"I'm sorry."

His voice sounded so small, so broken that Marco couldn't help himself as he pressed a kiss into Jean's hair.

"Go to sleep. Everything will be alright now."

 

The next morning, Marco awoke when a bright shaft of sun shone indiscriminately into his eyes. He went to drape an arm over a face, and sleep maybe another hour or four, but a small snore stopped him.

Blonde hair and a pale arm around his torso brought the night before rushing back to him.

Gingerly, Marco disengaged Jean's limbs from around him, and stepped onto the cold stone floor. 

He hissed softly and turned quickly around to Jean, who only rearranged himself and continued sleeping. Marco tip-toed to the chamber pot at the other end of the room, the morning wood in his pants becoming more uncomfortable with each step. The first trickle pinged as it hit the brass pot but as his hardness receded, the noise quieted as well.

The door, on the other hand, was practically deafening.

"You don't need to be so quiet." Came a soft voice behind him and Marco turned to find Jean on his side, looking at him through squinted eyes. "The servants aren't around at this hour."

"Stupid." Marco said as he went to the side of the bed and sat on his heels, looking straight into Jean's eyes. "Do you honestly think I was being quiet because of the staff _?"_

"Well," Jean cleared his throat, "I don't now how you feel about being seen coming and going from another man's rooms in the early morning. Which, you didn't have to, by the way. I'm sorry if I woke you and I'm  sorry I held a knife at -"

Marco had had enough. He moved quickly and captured Jean's babbling lips with his own. Jean was tense with surprise but he quickly relaxed and kissed him back.

When they parted, Marco held his face gently in his hands. "You are going to stop apologizing and I am going to get some breakfast from downstairs."

"Mhmm." Jean hummed. "Don't tell that cook it's for me. She hates that I sneak in for food in the middle of the night."

"You don't always go to sleep after your... dreams, do you?"

Jean shook his head slightly, eyes looking away from Marco. 

Marco leaned in for another kiss for good measure, only stepping away when he could leave Jean with a small smirk on his face as he turned over and covered his head with the quilt.

Marco walked up the hall and down the single flight of stairs to the kitchens. He and his brother had chosen this wing for their bedrooms based purely on the short walk to the kitchens. The amount of late night snacks they had shared as children were some of Marco's fondest of Xander.

He was a bit giddy, with Jean not outright killing him for the surprise kiss, though he definitely remembered that Jean had felt this way at least once before. Marco had experimented during his time in the more liberal Royal Palace to the south, at Sina Palace as well as the city proper. It seemed that the farther south one went, the more loose the people became with regards to who they shared their beds but Jean was from the North, and it was greatly frowned upon. Marco's parents subscribed to the Northern ideal of marriage and could be vocal about it in the right, or rather,  _wrong_ company. 

Skidding into the kitchen, Marco found Historia already there and kneading a great mound of dough, arms covered in patches of flour. It must not be that early because the kitchen was full of activity around her.

"Good morning!" He said to the room, a bright smile on his face.

"You look happy this morning, Marco. Is there something you wanted?" Petra asked. "I have apple strudels fresh from the oven."  She added conspiratorially.

"Yes, definitely. Some biscuits and tea as well?"

"Someone's hungry." Said Historia, smiling as she sifted more flour over the dough.

Marco could feel his face burning, "It's also for Jean."

"Well then." Petra huffed, starting off towards the ovens in the back, strawberry blonde head bobbing as she ranted. "I'll just whip up a four course meal because he just cannot just take one pastry, no. He has to take  _all of them!"_  

Marco chuckled and watched Historia begin punching the dough into submission, his expression sobering as he debated how to ask what was on his mind.

"What is it Marco? You look so incredibly serious."

"I'm always serious." Was his retort, slightly amused that Historia knew him well enough by now.

"Not lately. Not since Jean." She said lightly though her smile was tinted with amusement.

"Ymir fought battles with Jean before she went to Reiss Bay, right? Does she sometimes- I don't know- forget she isn't there anymore? While she sleeps?"

Historia stopped kneading and looked Marco in the eye and Marco could practically see the wheels turning inside her head before her expression softened.

"Ymir is very private about it, but I knew she was experiencing night terrors ever few days after she brought me from the cottage to the Reiss manor. Now it's every few months but it takes time to get there." She began kneading the bread again, alternating between punching it flat and folding it onto itself. "Did Jean-"

"Last night. He looked like he was going to kill me, to be honest."

Petra walked back to them, a large tray covered in pastries and biscuits. Two mugs were there as well, filled with milky tea. 

"Tell him if he doesn't stop taking my food I'll keep a hound on guard just for him!"

Marco laughed as he took the tray, walking carefully to avoid spilling and calling out his thanks and goodbyes.

 Historia came up to him, stopping him with a white hand around his arm.

"It will be hard." She said quietly, "Ymir likes when I sing to her. She says it comforts her." She paused as the woman in question sauntered into the kitchen, sneaking behind a turned Petra and took an apple from a basket. She saw them watching and flashed them a toothy grin before running out to the rear garden, Petra on her tail. 

"Find what comforts him and you'll both rest easier."

"Thank you." Marco tried to convey his gratitude to her with those two simple words. For the advice, for not hating him when they met for the first time three months before, for being so good even though others were not always good to her, for being such a good sport about his mother and their upcoming wedding in the fall.

"I should be thanking you, Marco. There are worse men I could have been forced to marry." She said wryly, going back to her bread. 

Marco made his way slowly upstairs, balancing the heavy tray in one hand to open the heavy door. 

As he stepped into the room, the ceramic mugs skidded across the metal tray and the screeching made Jean sit up, bleary eyed and hair tousled, only to slump back down and groan, "What time is it?"

"Don't worry, you don't need to wake up yet. I have breakfast for when we want it, though we should drink the tea before it cools." Marco said, walking around the bed to set the tray on his bedside table and sliding into his abandoned spot, two steaming mugs in hand.

"Good plan" said Jean as he perched on an arm and reached for the mug with the other. 

He held onto Marco's hand for a moment, whispering softly, "Sorry about last night."

Marco pursed his lips and took the cup back.

"Hey!"

Marco settled in farther into the plush pillows and took a sip form his mug, "Not until you stop apologizing. You did nothing wrong."

Jean stared defiantly at him for a moment, eyes ablaze before he sighed and slumped down, curling away from Marco.

Marco smiled brightly as he placed his tea back onto the tray, accustomed to Jean's dramatics.

He gently reached out, tracing the curve of his shoulder with his fingers. Jean leaned back into the touch and Marco slid his hand around his waist, fingers tracing the winding scar.

He ran his hand up the center of Jean's abdomen and then back down, eliciting a soft hiss. 

Jean grabbed his hand and brought it up to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the palm then another on Marco's wrist. Marco hummed into Jean's back, pressing soft kisses into his shoulder blade.

Jean turned around, kissing Marco hard on the mouth. Marco kissed him back eagerly, sucking hard on Jean's lower lip.

He growled low and kissed with greater urgency, rolling them over and straddling Marco's torso. 

They separated to catch their breath, Jean's hand near Marco's ear the only thing holding him up. He rested his forehead against Marco's and whispered,"I really am sorry about last night. I wish I could control it but-- oof!"

Marco used his superior weight and the last ounce of patience to roll them over, pinning him under his long legs, hands pressing down on his chest, eyes blazing. 

"Stop. Fucking. Apologizing."

Jean lay there for a moment, staring up at Marco's eyes.

Marco didn't realize Jean was reaching up for his own pillow until it was too late as he smacked Marco right across the face and knocked him off balance. As Jean hit him again and as Marco scrambled for a weapon, they dissolved into boyish laughter that was sure to reach even the coldest corners of the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> I added a trigger warning for PTSD just in case.
> 
> As usual, this is looking to be longer than I intended but I'm liking where this is going (even though I do have two very different possible endings in mind)...
> 
>  
> 
> [Go yell at me if it sucked!](rubble-and-stardust.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> i had a lot of reign and tortall and game of thrones on the brain this weekend and this medieval au is the product of that, i guess...  
> (of course this started as a oneshot but i got carried away, oops)
> 
> I [have a tumblr](rubble-and-stardust.tumblr.com) if you want to yell at me or whatever <3


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